the Third Twin (1996)

He folded her in his arms. Slowly he felt her body lose its stiffness, and she leaned on him trustingly. He stroked her head and twined his fingers in the heavy waves of her dark hair. He closed his eyes, thinking how lean and strong her body was. I’ll bet Dennis has some bruises too, he thought. I hope so.

Mr. Oliver coughed. “Would you youngsters like a cup of coffee?”

Jeannie detached herself from Steve. “No, thanks,” she said. “I just want to get out of these clothes.”

Tension was written on her face, but she looked even more bewitching. I’m falling in love with this woman, he thought. It’s not just that I want to sleep with her—though it’s that too. I want her to be my friend. I want to watch TV with her, and go to the supermarket with her, and give her NyQuil on a spoon when she has a cold. I want to see how she brushes her teeth and pulls on her jeans and butters her toast. I want her to ask me does the orange lipstick suit her and should she buy razors and what time will I be home.

He wondered if he had the nerve to tell her that.

She crossed the row porch to her door. Steve hesitated. He wanted to follow her, but he needed an invitation.

She turned on the doorstep. “Come on,” she said.

He followed her up the stairs and entered the living room behind her. She dropped the black plastic bag on the rug. She went into the kitchen nook and kicked off her shoes, then, to his astonishment, she dropped them in the kitchen bin. “I’ll never wear these goddamn clothes again,” she said angrily. She took off her jacket and threw that away. Then, as Steve stared in disbelief, she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off and put that in the bin too.

She was wearing a plain black cotton brassiere. Surely, Steve thought, she was not going to take that off right in front of him. But she reached behind her back, unfastened it, and tossed it into the trash. She had firm, shallow breasts with prominent brown nipples. There was a faint red mark on her shoulder where the strap had been too tight. Steve’s throat went dry.

She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She wore simple black bikini panties. Steve gazed at her openmouthed. Her body was perfect: the strong shoulders, the neat breasts, the flat belly, and the long, sculptured legs. She pushed her panties down, swept them up in a bundle with the skirt, and shoved the bundle into the bin. Her pubic hair was a dense mass of black curls.

She looked blankly at Steve for a moment, almost as if she were not sure what he was doing there. Then she said: “I have to take a shower.” Naked, she walked past him. He looked hungrily at her back, drinking in the details of her shoulder blades, her narrow waist, the swelling curves of her hips, and the muscles of her legs. She was so lovely it hurt.

She left the room. A moment later he heard water running.

“Jesus,” he breathed. He sat on her black couch. What did it mean? Was that some kind of test? What was she trying to say to him?

He smiled. What a wonderful body, so slim and strong and perfectly proportioned. No matter what else happened, he would never forget the way she looked.

She showered for a long time. He realized that in the drama of her accusation he had not told her his mystifying news. At last the water stopped. A minute later she returned to the room in a big fuchsia pink terrycloth robe, wet hair plastered to her head. She sat on the couch beside him and said: “Did I dream it, or did I just strip off in front of you?”

“No dream,” he said. “You dumped your clothes in the trash.”

“My God, I don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m glad you trust me so much. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

“You must think I’m out of my mind.”

“No, but I think you’re probably shocked after what happened to you in Philadelphia.”

“Maybe that’s it. I just remember feeling I had to get rid of the clothes I was wearing when it happened.”

‘This may be the moment to open that bottle of vodka you keep in the freezer.”

She shook her head. “What I really want is some jasmine tea.”

“Let me make it.” He got up and went behind the kitchen counter. “Why are you carrying a garbage bag around?”

“I was fired today. They put all my personal stuff in that bag and locked me out of my room.”

“What?” He was incredulous. “How come?”

“There was an article in the New York Times today saying that my use of databases violates people’s privacy. But I think Berrington Jones was just using that as an excuse to get rid of me.”

He burned with indignation. He wanted to protest, to spring to her defense, to save her from this malicious persecution. “Can they dismiss you just like that?”

“No, there’s a hearing tomorrow morning in front of the discipline committee of the university senate.”

“You and I are both having an unbelievably bad week.” He was going to tell her about the DNA test when she picked up the phone.